Change ©Lyn Crain

Racing to Unlock

 an Alien Thought Process

Beauty Fearlessly Rendered

The Architecture of Survival

Monuments to Memory

Fearlessly Rendered

 in Its Complexity


Racing to Unlock

 an Alien Thought Process

Come and Find Me

The Fragile Songs

A Book of Illuminations


Find a Direction Home


Racing to Unlock

An Alien Thought Process

From the Theater of War

 to the Halftime Show

Counting The Unarmed,

Black and Dead

Waging…  Battle


Racing to Unlock

An Alien Thought Process

Against Me, Myself and I

The Architecture of Survival

Around Town

Keep Your Eye on the Road

And on the Driver as Well


Racing to Unlock

An Alien Thought Process

Last Chance



They Can’t Kill Us All

Turning The Tables



This poem is created from article titles in The New York Times Friday 11/11/ 2016 Edition of Weekend Arts. Every line is either the full title or pieces of it to make the poem flow. I haven’t added any words except the titles.



Death of Democracy©Lyn Crain

The Mistletoe Murder


Philosophers and

 Other Lovers

in what once

was a nation


A Gambler’s Anatomy

In this

City of Dreams

Where America Begins


Judge Not

The Whistler

The Man Who Chose

To Exile

Rogue Heroes

In the

March of the Lexicon



Words on the Move

Cruel Beautiful World

It’s no longer

Seriously Sweet

When Music Was Life and Death



Escape Clause


The Wrong Side of Good bye

in a Sleeping World


The Mortifications

Bless Me

 for I Will Sin


This is another found poetry piece from the New York Times Book Review. I take the book review and cut all the different review titles and the book titles out and place them on the table. I then move them around until I have a poem. I only add minimal words to help the flow. The titles are all in italics.

#New York Times


Looped Poetry ©Lyn Crain

poetry leaped off my tongue
tongue swirled with joy
joy waiting to be shared
shared among the masses
masses reading looped poetry
poetry at its best
best poetry

Loop Poetry is a form wherein the last word in one line becomes the first word in the following line, as demonstrated in the following link:

More examples with variations can be found here:

Looking at poetry styles

I discovered a different one called Soledad. I love learning new and old styles of poetry writing, it opens one’s mind to different possibilities when writing. My humble attempt is included with Gorder’s, and Smith’s  below.

Soledad: 1. Three 8-syllable lines 2. Written in tercets or triplets alone or in sequence. 3. Rhyme Scheme: a-x-a b-x-b etc. X= unrhymed. 4. Often has internal consonance or assonance. 5. Octosyllabic lines were typical in 12th  Spanish poetry. The majority of the forms were couplets.


Spring Ahead © Judi Van Gorder

Eyes droop from lack of sleep last night,
late night write, hour hand clicks to twelve,
skip ropes forward, I wake at light.


Sacrifice Zones © 2012 Linda Varsell Smith

Exploited for profit and greed,

no rules to protect people, land

places disregarded we need.


Fuel industry and create blight.

Pollution a catastrophe.

Deplete and decay–people’s plight


Remove what stands in machine’s way

leaving dead land, mountain moonscape.

taking clean water, breathe away.


Defeated people struggle, shout

renew, recycle, choose for life,

dead, dying zones doing without.


In a Chaotic Moment ©Lyn Crain

Leaves flutter wildly in the wind

The colors burst upon my soul

 scattered thoughts defiantly pinned

Click to access Soledad.pdf

The Titles Spoke to Me #2 ©Lyn Crain

The Titles Spoke to Me #2 ©Lyn Crain

A Gambler’s Anatomy

on the Streets of Laredo

with Wolf Boys and

 Black Lives Imagined

Wild in The Streets

in Blood and Sand

the last Shelter in Place.

 In those Crazy Years

Small Great Things

Just What You Are to Me

The Nonconformist

Leaving The Faith

for a Bohemian Grove

No Place Is Home.


If He Writes It, She Will Come

Make A Mess of It

Strangers in Their Own Land

The Ghost in The Machine, Maybe Your Soul

Paint It Black

Pure Adrenaline Utter Ease

Under The Udala Trees

It Stands Alone

in Denial

I Must Be Living Twice

The Hating Game


This poem is written with titles found in the Sunday Book Review and the Weekend Arts of the New York Times.  This poetic style is called Found Poetry. The words in Italics are books and review titles. I did not alter them in any way. I simply placed them all on paper and shuffled them until I created a poem.

Who’s Smiling Now © Lyn Crain

My poem is in response to a picture in a poetry contest on, the picture is created by Marci Perrine. I’ve included the link below along with the song that inspired me.

Who’s Smiling Now

Let’s see if my plans go as proposed.
How dare those three pumpkins smirk!
He thought I wouldn’t see the gate closed.
That man is such a predictable jerk.

On the surface, I look young and immature
but behind these appealing lavender eyes
there are years of rage barely denied.
I’ve found there are advantages to being demure.

I’ll show him not to take my feelings lightly
He underestimates my ability to take action.
Hmm, I have something to remind him nightly
Ah, this spell will give me immense satisfaction.

On the surface, I look young and immature
but behind these appealing lavender eyes
there are years of rage barely denied.
I’ve found there are advantages to being demure.

My trusty wand glows with delight
ready for work on this pathetic jerk
as his screams of agony fill the night
I noted his pumpkins lost their evil smirk.

Oops, another man done gone…

Betrayed©Lyn Crain

So many brightly, illuminated
cumulus clouds surround you
on this October evening.
Mr. Moon. Or should I address

you as the Hunter, this fine evening?

I stand before you seeking answers
to those nagging adult questions.

Where do we go from here?

Please, tell me
Mr. Moon.
I need to know.

Why is it,
when I was a child
staring at you
the answers I sought
were right there?

Now that I’m an adult Mr. Moon,
the answers never appear.
Did you abandon me to those
lullaby moments?

I’m so scared.

Being an adult is not what

I thought.

Damn you. Why is it
your beguiling glow now
leaves me chilled
to the bone?


Sadly,  a new
dawning realization
echoes across
my aged soul even

my childhood friends’
glimmering magic
is gone.

Damn you Mr. Moon!

I never expected to be
betrayed by you,
my last childhood friend.

Hallowed Ground © Lyn Crain

I wandered lonely as a cloud,

pardon my writhing messages

that burst from the shadows

consumed in this fiery furnace

 of my coffee stained soul.

Remorse and sin are at the root

of my rabid hatred infesting

my agonized memories.

Driven by my hunger for love

 I sought asylum on

…a mortuary slab.

I was curious to see how my poem translated into French 
so I have included both here. If you are fluent in French
 could you tell me if Google translate worked or not. Thanks!

Terrain sacré © Lyn Crain
J'ai erré comme un nuage solitaire,
excusez mon messages putride
qui éclatent de l'ombre
consommé dans cette fournaise ardente
de mon âme taché de café.
Remords et sin sont à la racine
de mon chien enragé la haine infestant
les lignes floues de mes souvenirs déchirés.
Entraîné par mon amour pour la faim
je cherché asile sur
… une dalle funéraire.

The reverse translation clearly does show the same word choices as I intended. 😦



Evangeline © Lyn Crain


Evil ruled this beautiful forest far too long. It’s time to unmask

She should resist entering the haunted forest, but it is too tempting

Evangeline, although quite young believes she is ready for the task

The rumors fly every Hallows Eve, but no one dares preempting

Evangeline knows in her heart that she will not be alone

Ghosts of other young victims await her, pray she is the one

A mysterious, powerful force compels her into the unknown

Hope that she is strong enough to battle evil John Donne

In the darkness beside the tree, lurk his henchmen

The fairies create a shimmer of twinkles all around her

They watch her guarded approach to the mysterious glen

Soon the prophesied battle betwixt good and evil will occur

Legends have foretold a beautiful witch would be the one

The village prays she can save their weary souls

Henchmen work fiercely for their evil master John Donne

No one saw this twist; it was not written in the scrolls

Evangeline stood in the glen calmly facing him

John entered the light shocked by her appearance

She spoke not a word but kissed him lightly on a whim

He raised his hand not allowing any interference.

John sighed, he could not remember his last kiss

Fairies fluttering and twinkling as if she were his bride

The sweet feel was too delightful to simply dismiss

Battle or kiss, let’s try that again before I decide

Life in America ©Lyn Crain


Overtly anxious to
protect the world’s relics
with our entitlement mentality.
Let them eat kale
with their past glory.
In our never ending quest
for others to change
under the illusion
of peaceful intentions
we force iron fist methodology.
The party hats talk at us
pledging the lesser of two evils.
We are no stranger to these muddy affairs.
It’s the American dream!
Everything ends in an acquittal
and the chaos and terror continue.